Just in Time

Whatever you do, don't give up.

CW: Self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please use discretion when reading.

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There’s no way it should have worked. The damn thing had no basis in science, and yet, there I was.

An older, wiser, scarred version of myself stood across from me—a soft smile, a quiet disposition, and a calmness that defied our current circumstances.

“Nice job, you finally did it. You’ve got about five minutes,” he said.

“You’ve done this before?” I asked.

He reached up and scratched the stubble on his face. A contrast of dark brown and bright white with specks of gray.

“Countless times. Here, there, and all along the river. The loop has to continue, after all. Four minutes and forty-five seconds remaining.”

“Okay, well, do I find true love?” I ask.

He laughs. “As close as you can get, yeah. Four and a half minutes left.”

“Wait...do you already know what I’m going to ask?”

He shakes his head. “Every timeline is different. This one is ours. Four minutes.”

“Okay, okay. What about my career? Do I win the Nobel Prize for my work?”

A fragile smile crosses his face. “I don’t think you want to know the answer to that one. Come on, three minutes and thirty seconds. Why don’t we walk about the metal elephant in the room?”

“What are you—” My eyes wandered over to the loaded revolver sitting next to the device.

“How did you know about that?”

His face hardened. “I know what you were planning to do with that. I interrupted you, didn’t I?”

I nodded.

“Can I give you some advice? We’ve got three minutes.”

I nodded again.

“I’m from a different timeline, so I can’t say what you’re going to do, but my advice? Don’t give up.”

“Why not?” I asked.

I felt his coarse hand on my shoulder and looked up into his eyes, full of wisdom and experience.

“You’re going to change a lot of people’s lives for the better if you stick around.”

“How do you know that? You just said you’re not from my timeline.”

He smiled. “Trust me. This is one of those things that always happens.”

I looked back at the loaded revolver and then over to the device that had brought him here.

“How is a time machine going to help people?” I asked.

“It’s not that. It’s something else. You haven’t created it yet. Two minutes left.”

“Can I at least get a hint?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That’s not how it works, kid. One minute left.”

That same calmness in his eyes swept over me. A taste of that certainty that he exuded. Just a taste.

I picked up the revolver. It was heavy in my hand, but heavier in my mind.

“Will I ever be happy?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Now we’re talking.”

I wait, but he remains silent. I kept staring at the gun.

“Well?” I asked.

“You’re happy when you let go of the uncertainty. When you stop living in the past, obsessing over the future, and wasting your present. I wish I had realized that sooner. Don’t make the same mistake.”

“How much time do we have left?” I asked.

Silence.

I turned around, and he was gone. I picked up the revolver, curling my finger around the trigger. I flicked it to the side, opening the cylinder. Those little bullets stared back at me. I turned it upright and dumped them onto the ground.

Next, I picked up a nearby hammer, and smashed the machine. It was the pinnacle of my life’s work, but it was also a monument to my obsessions. It had to go.

I would stay.

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Thank you for Reading. Here’s Your Musical Pairing

This story is dedicated to Chester Bennington. You left us far too soon, friend. Whatever you do, don’t give up. Your not alone. National suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255